The Over Rated Goldfish Speaks at Last!
by Underwater Owl
Summary: Abe's getting distant. Marina's getting ticked off. And what exactly happened to her before she made it to the BPRD? This has everything, folks- fluff, darkness, fluff, humor, fluff, death, and some fluff added for good measure. Sequel-ish thing for Si
1. Wanting

Wanting

I'm sitting here, at my desk, in front of my laptop, trying to write a story.

But where to begin? With a title? A catchy opening sentence? A plotline?

I start, as I always do, with a character.

My character is an ordinary girl. I can see her, sitting in front of me, fidgeting in a chair.

My long, blue fingers steeple and I stare into my imagination for a few moments. Where shall Jenny and I begin?

_Jenny, your name is Jenny, right?_

_Well Jenny, where do you live? How old are you? What's your first memory? Your latest? Do you like chocolate, Jenny? Do you have trouble sleeping? What grade are you in? Do your parents live together? Are you artistic? Do you read dirty books? Do you have any friends, Jenny? Jenny, what are you afraid of?_

The streams of questions flows unregulated and I blink, and begin typing down answers as they come.

Then, reading over my work, I check to see how much of** Me** Jenny has absorbed. I want her to have her own personality, after all.

A little girl with a remarkable intelligence; victimised to the point of suicide by her peers.

This is getting darker than I want it to be. But it's also truthful.

With a sigh, I press ControlS and wait for another, more sinister day to pull poor Jenny out of her drawer.

A man is lounging in the chair Jenny has vacated. He's sprawling everywhere. He's big, and bright, and as I think more and more about where I want this story to go, I see he's a hippy. From an anti-war protest, against Vietnam, I think. He wants nothing more than to smoke hemp and burn his draft papers.

_You're a flower child then? Did you ever attend a protest? Do you eat breakfast every morning? Do you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? A best friend? Both? Have you ever cried in the dark and had no one hear you? Do you wear socks in bed? Who's your favourite poet? What's the nicest time of the year? What do you want right now?_

What does he want? That's the key, isn't it?

Everybody wants something. Everybody. A cup of coffee, a warm body to sleep next to, world peace… I've never looked into the mind of a human and not seen, first of all, what they want. Everything branches out from that.

What do you want? How much do you want it? What are you willing to do to get it?

Evil people want bad things. That's what society is teaching us. But I'm not so sure. You see, I think evil people want something too much. They might want something good, but after a while, the ends stop justifying the means.


	2. Masks

AN- Ok, this in the same timeline as my Silent Observer, but isn't really a sequel. More a bit of reflection at things. It wasn't meant to be a story at all. I started writing it as a warm up, to get my pen into Hellboy mode so that SO1 and 2 came out in character. But then I got bored, so I started posting bit by bit. It needs some refinements along the way, of course... Thanks to my REVIEWER (1) theshadowcat. Nice hearing from people!

Masks

My hippy friend is getting confused at my silence, so I go back to him.

Stan Connor, college student. Barefoot, longhaired, Allen Ginsberg fan… Today, he's come to my page to buy a bagel. That's where I'll start with him.

Stan, right now, wants some breakfast. He's hungry, tired, not having had his morning coffee, and is speaking out at his campus later today. He walks into a little diner…

I spend the rest of the day typing about Stan. He's an easygoing person, and similarly he seems to flow off my pen. He has peers, too. The owner of the diner is Mrs. Hopkins, who gets along with him fairly well. There's also Louise, an offshoot of Jenny, but with a happier life, though no less difficult. Myers walks by, hoping to get my attention, but I ignore him. It's just one of those days where people seem like a little too much to deal with. Marina stops by later, with a bowl of eggs and an offer for a game of crokinole.

"Not right now, please"

She guesses my mindset in about three seconds, and moves silently behind me, reading for about fours seconds.

"Add a villain, Abe. But don't make him evil"

That made more sense than it should have, and I nod distractedly, fingers already flying.

Four hours, three visits unwelcome visits, and two acts of a play later I uncurl from my computer chair. Stretching languidly, I stride quickly towards my tank, determined to _move _for a little while.

I wake up in the middle of the night, with a sick urge absolutely compelling me to write. It's odd; I generally don't do this whole inspiration thing more than once a week. But Marina's villain has suddenly developed a face. And I guess I've been writing more since the Professor died.

I've always been fascinated by writing. Putting down onto paper what I see inside people. I'm a believable author. I know how people think.

But more and more I find my characters less like someone I know, and more like myself. I guess it helps to write. Then people know how I'm feeling, even if I do put it up behind a mask of another character.

But that's all we are, really. Masks. Everyone has a mask they slip on in the morning, which changes depending on who they're talking to.

And in all my acquaintances only one person has realized that that was why I can be so frightening. I see right past the mask, to the bottom of the heart, and to the deepest secrets. And that one person decided that that was alright, because the mask was not important. And dear god, I'm babbling like a lunatic. Who knew I became so philosophical in the early morning.

Marina's always cheerful. Even on missions that last late into the night, she always has time to banter with Myers, or take a photo of Liz and Red.

Realizing my urge to write hasn't panned out to anything useful when I see the still blank screen after half an hour of writing a sentence, re reading it, and deleting it. Giving up, I wander back to the tank, and slide into the water, sighing.


	3. Dirty Mind

Car Trip- Dirty Mind

_AN- this is an adaptation of a scene I wrote while I was still working on the tone of dialogue between Abe and Marina for Silent Observer 3 (which, although you may not have heard this, was DELETED by a frekin computer crash, and got progressively worse and worse as I tried to re-write it) They are, by my reasoning, incredibly open with eachother cause of the whole telepathy thing,they can joke about leaving eachother without the slightest risk of misunderstandingbut Abe can )obviously) keep secrets. I figure they share emotions, but not thoughts. I took the dialogue, which was set over a kitchen table, and put into the sorry excuse for a plot that's emerging in this fic._

Marina is sleeping. God, I owe her a major apology. I've been hermitting myself recently. And the anniversary of our first contact is coming up. I've already gotten her a necklace. It's a sapphire on a long silver chain. And it made me think of her.

God, that was an adventure. They assumed, by the end of it, that I was a criminal on the run, at the jewellery store. I walked in wearing a trench coat, and a balaclava under a wide brimmed hat. Conspicuous, right? The gloves were even harder to pass off. I paid with a perfectly legitimate credit card, with a healthy tip to help them forget me, of course. There were no major complaints on any side- I'll never be short on money, what would I spend it on, clothes?

Marina stirs as the currents of my movements hit her. Her eyes open blearily.

"Hmm?"

"Writing. Go back to sleep"

"You write too much for your own sanity, you know that, right?"

Cheerful, as always…

"Probably. In the morning you can throw out my computer"

She's wide awake in a second, at that.

"Really?"

"No"

She sighs deeply, her gills flaring.

"I thought not."

"But I _am _going to be putting it away for the next little while."

Marina turned slowly and looked at me.

"Does this have anything to do with the date?"

I smile, and leave her to guess.

"Go to sleep, Marina"

She did just that, after pulling me through the water an over to where she was sleeping. I wrapped my arms around her, and we slept, minds linked.

And I know, with absolute certainty, that this is what we want.

A week later I spring my surprise on Marina. At eight in the morning she gets up, and groans, not wanting to go to the meeting she has scheduled with Manning.

So we don't.

I grab her hand and drag her into the BPRD garage. We hop into a car, with tinted windows, of course, and start driving.

"So, now will you tell me where we're going?"

"No, Marina"

"So, where are we going?"

"No, Marina"

"Is there any food?"

"Some liquorice in the back seat."

"Thanks, so where are we going?"

"No, Marina"

"Bastard"

"Do you want some of my liquorice or not?"

"Evil, evil man, you are."

"Probably. There's some chocolate in the blue bag, too."

She turns around in her seat and pulls out the package, biting it open with delicately pointed teeth. Popping a piece into her mouth, she closes her eyes.

"You've successfully reminded me why I love you."

"Right, Marina."

"So please tell me where we're going!"

I laugh at that.

"Ungrateful wench, I gave you the chocolate, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but be careful Abe, or I'll leave you for the guy who works at Second Cup. He makes fantastic hot chocolate."

"That stung"

"Bite me"

"Not yet, we're in a moving car!"

She swats me at that.

"SOMEONE has a dirty mind."

"Yes, Marina."

We drive for the next two hours, until finally, when Marina is getting more and more edgy.

And then we arrive.

Marina's eyes widen.

"Woah, Abe, don't worry about the second cup guy. He has NOTHING on this."


	4. Anniversary

Caribou Lake

An- my romance muse rose up and captured my mind temporarily. This is pure fluff. Sweeter than cotton candy, but guaranteed not to rot your teeth… It was written while I was in a romantic play, and I was playing a really sappy character, so this is not _really _my fault.

_Llew- But still you post it?_

Hey, every one needs a little sugar now and then! And the lake is a description of my cottage, basically. This story will keep coming as quickly as I can mold my short stories to fit into the shabby semblance of a plot that I'm trying to keep.

"Woah, Abe, don't worry about the second cup guy. He has NOTHING on this."

"Glad to hear it."

She gets out of the car slowly. I'm struck by the way the pine trees around us bring out the green in her skin, which I had thought previously to be a pure blue. She takes a step off the edge of the road, and steps around the sign that prohibits motor boats and keeps my secret so pristine.

The lake is a perfect mirror, with almost no wind to disturb the surface, the pine trees on the surrounding mountains reflect, giving the impression that I'm Alice, ready to step down and emerge in a mirrored world.

"Through the looking glass"

Marina's voice doesn't shatter the beautiful silence around us, but rolls gently though it.

"I thought so, yes"

She daintily kicks off the loafer she was wearing, and hovers her foot over the surface, as though reluctant to break it.

Unable to resist, I stoop, pick up a pebble off the side of the road, and toss it in right in front of her before her foot touches the water.

"_Merde!"_

She spins and glares at me.

"Jerky fish"

"Juvenile amphibian"

"Dyed bog monster"

"Extra terrestrial"

Marina opens her mouth, and then closes it, trying to come up with something. I smirk.

"I win"

She sticks out her tongue, which is surprisingly pink.

I look at her, and put my hands on my hips.

"Was that an invitation?"

She blushes an even deeper green, but a grin slowly erupts on her face.

"But you have to catch me first!"

With that she runs into the water and dips beneath the surface, trailing a stream of bubbles.

Marina always swears in different languages. She says it's because she spends too much time around Liz's daughter to have to focus on guarding her tongue. So far, I've heard French, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, and what I think may be Esperanto.

I don't swear. Much. Well, not in front of people who really care.

But Marina is somewhere in the lake. I step into the water and send out a tentative telepathic pulse.

_Why you little cheater! Telepathy, hmph!_

_Yes, well… it worked._

_Obviously._

Kissing someone when you're underwater is very different from kissing someone on land. I wouldn't want to try beneath the surface without gills, but on the whole I like it much better. Marina and I spent the rest of the day at the bottom of the lake. I gave her the grand tour, and showed her every aspect I had discovered over the years here;

A capsized rowboat. A pair of glasses. Another kiss interrupted our search. A beaver lodge and a dam.

_What does a fish say when it hits a brick wall?_

_Come on Marina, you've asked me that joke how many times now?_

_DAM! Hah!_

_Right._

It always was her favorite joke.

We played with the small fish that stayed at the very bottom, and Marina was chased by a pike that thought she was getting too close to a nest she hadn't noticed. After swimming off at a break neck pace, she finally slowed and spun, glaring at me.

I was laughing very surreptitiously, if I do say so myself.

She, apparently didn't think so.

_Next time you have a demon attack you, I am sooo sitting and watching._

_Marina, it couldn't have bitten off your toe! It's mouth was tiny. What was it possibly going to do to you?_

_That's it! I'm watching your death with POPCORN!_

We explored the series of streams that fed into the lake.

I got the rest of the picnic out of the car, and we sat on the bank, on the other side, where no traffic could see us. We watched a deer stop to drink at the edge of the lake at twilight. We kissed some more, and watched the sun set.

When the sun was high in the sky I pulled Marina's blue pendant out of the basket and attached it around her neck. She stared at it, for a few moments, the hugged me. We leaned back her head on my shoulder, and watched the sun finish setting. She never said thank you, but her fingers never once left the stone, toying with it subconsciously, and when we joined minds, I felt her gratitude. It was more meaningful than words ever could be, and I wondered again how humans could possibly ever find love without communication.

Then we got back in the car, blasted the heat, and ate the remaining chocolate, eggs, and liquorices before I started the car to take us back to the Bureau.

We didn't say anything on the drive back, but we didn't need to.


	5. Perfect

AN- K, didn't realize it till now, but I haven't put a single disclaimer on any of my fics for the past, er… month? NOTHING is mine, except the Lake and Marina.

_The perfect setting for a romance if I do say so myself!_

You're biased, Llewella. I have a hand in this chapter! 

**For an introduction to the muses check out the new and improved author page!**

Story-

PERFECT

When Marina and I get back to the BPRD we've been missed.

Manning is standing at the door, looking threatening.

"Where the hell did you two go now?"

Marina fingers her pendant gently.

"We were out. I wasn't aware that we were prisoners here."

Manning rolls his eyes. I feel that it's time to interject.

"We weren't foolish enough to be seen"

Manning glares at me.

"How the hell do you know that?"

I look him straight in the eyes, and smile, showing all my teeth.

"Guess."

Marina starts coughing slightly, her but her giggles come though strong and clear telepathically.

Manning isn't fazed by this at all. His mind move in one direction at one time, giving him an ability to focus that has, much to my shock, been extremely valuable in managing the BPRD. Father, on the other hand, did just as well and his mind was about as straight forward as a spiral staircase in and Escher painting.

Manning is blathering on about ethics, and setting an example, and what sounds lake 'cantaloupes' but Marina assures me isn't.

Finally, Marina has an idea.

Using a tiny amount of energy, she creates one spark. Just a single spark…

…Right underneath a fire detector.

The copper seal that keeps the water pressurized bursts, and it begins to rain down on us. Manning runs off, swearing, and we make a beeline for the tank.

A few moments before we enter the library, the water stops falling from the ceiling.

"Which nozzle did you set off, love?"

Marina grins.

"Guess."

"Is that an echo? But seriously, which one?"

"The one in Hellboy's room."

I sit for a moment, thinking. Then, I throw back my head and laugh.

Marina walks over to the book shelf and traces her fingers along the well worn spines.

"They won't blame him. Worst comes to worst they'll chalk it up to those terrible cigars."

Marina and Hellboy aren't the best of friends. She's hyper sensitive to tobacco; it gets into her gills and hampers her breathing under water. He, to put it simply, doesn't believe her.

She pulls a book off the shelf and walks over to the stands that hold them, during the day. Sliding 'Stranger in a Strange Land' onto the stand, she turns towards me.

"You're not angry about the spark thing, right?"

I open my mind to her, sparing us both an answer that simply wouldn't say as much.

Within three seconds she's in my arms, and I pick her up kissing her yet again. We dive into the tank a few seconds later, and I deactivate the speaker system, and close the heavy blinds that we installed for privacy.

How do we spend the rest of the day? The perfect ending?

Use your imagination.

AN- Things are about to take a turn for the more depressing. I'm about to head into memories of St Trinians, who I've painted as evil genetic manipulators (like the people from Alien Resurrection, only not quite as suicidal…)


	6. Marina's Past

When we found Marina, the BPRD, that is, she was fighting tooth and claw to get out of a tank at an illegal research branch of St-Trinians. She had no memory of them, but recognizes her own style of writing.

_Case File X1294_

_AWSSAS_

_Incident Report-Marina Connery. Icthyo Sapien #9. These are documents recovered from the patient's quarters. The names of other students have been changed for their protection._

_Documents Recovered;_

The first thing I ever noticed was the absences. They had the whole charade of normality working almost perfectly, but there was one thing they couldn't help. Every class, every day, another person would be missing. They gave hundreds of plausible excuses, about how girls at this age were badly behaved, and about bad winter colds going around, and how these things were even worse in a boarding school because we all lived so close together, but they couldn't explain it all away.

I never noticed, of course. I followed blindly where my teachers led me, and never perceived the patterns. I wasn't nearly smart enough for that. No, to notice that, to put the pieces together and realize that every student was absent on the same two days of every month, that took a mind like Jenna's. I was a _telepath_ for Chrissake, and I didn't notice.

She first told me about this rhythm on the sixteenth of April. She trusted me more than the rest of the school, because she was one of only a few Icthyo Sapiens in the building. There were other non-humans of course, but we understood eachother just a little bit better. We were going to lunch, right after math class, when I met her in the hall. She was sitting on a bench, the watery sunlight streaming through the window in front of her. It highlighted her blue stripes, and somehow seemed her look frail, her shadow stretching out longer than seemed possible for the angle of the sun.

"Hi Jenna" I greeted her. She looked up and smiled her distracted smile that meant she was thinking. I knew her well enough to let her finish her thoughts, and I was right to.

"Marina, I just noticed something. I want to talk to you about it."

She looked genuinely puzzled, and it isn't often Jenna ask for help, so I answered. "Sure, what is it?"

"Have you noticed that everyone misses a few classes a month?"

"Yah, but that's normal, isn't it"

I sat down next to her. I folded my webbed fingers on my lap, and looked across at her.

"Two days a month, _every _student?"

"I guess so, but, I mean, people do get sick."

"What if I was to tell you that they were the same two days?"

I turned to look at her.

"You mean the exact same date?"

She nodded.

"Every month"

Another nod.

"Every student?"

She gave me another, deeper nod, followed by a sardonic smile as I began to pay attention.

I laughed lightly, trying to brush it off. "Oh, Jenna, it's probably just the wrong time of the month for their cycle… You know how it can be."

Jenna smiled at me. "Yes, Marina, that's a very reasonable explanation, and I would totally agree with you if t wasn't for one thing."

"What?"

"Those two days, they aren't together. They come _exactly _nine days apart."

And that was the first time I ever began to doubt the manipulative tool that was my school. I had been in this lovely rickety old building, living all year round, not counting two weeks of March break and a three week end of year vacation, for four years. In all that time I had never found so much as a crack in the protective padding they smothered us in 'for our own good.' I didn't even think too much of it then. I was so trusting that it took several more incidents like this before I even began to realize that something was very wrong. That is as close to the true conversation as I can remember it, I didn't think to write it until a few days ago.


	7. Mistaken

The school then made a mistake. It didn't realize what it was doing at the time. If it had let Jenna be, I wouldn't have noticed, but it felt obliged to quench any small seed of revolution it felt springing up inside it. Jenna had a big imagination, and was a stronger telepath than anyone else in the school. That's what I told myself afterward… I mean, I've always known that, haven't I? I once heard my mother say that people like Jenna told lies not because they wanted to, but because they needed attention, and that it wasn't their fault. I assumed that it wasn't important, and resigned myself to hear more and more about this imagined conspiracy of Jenna's. That was why our next conversation surprised me. I'm totally rambling, I'm so nervous, but please bear with me.

I met Jenna in the cafeteria with Fiona. It was two days later. The first day I hadn't had any classes with Jen, but the second day her, Fiona and I had English together, and she hadn't been there. I walked up behind her.

"Hi Jen."

"Hi, want a drink?"

I sat down next to her. She looked very tired, and her eyes were swirled with green, a sure sign of worry.

"No thanks, so" I asked casually "where you abducted by aliens yesterday, or was it a government plot?" She looked at me sleepily, and asked me what I was talking about.

"You know!" I joked. "You were absent yesterday, so now you know first hand what is happening!"

She informed me very curtly that she had had the flu, and that I shouldn't be so silly, after all, I was a senior student and I shouldn't be putting ideas of conspiracies into the heads of the first years. I walked out of the cafeteria without finishing my lunch. I was hurt that my friend had been so mean about a subject she had been so interested in.

Only then I began to wonder about why my Jenna, who wanted to be a journalist, had dropped her topic, and what the absences actually meant, but all thoughts of impending doom were driven from my head by the thought of my math test next period. I still wasn't too worried, though, which probably saved me.

The next day I missed school. I have memories of being queasy, and deciding to go back to sleep, but I'm not sure if they are actually mine or not. I only know that Jenna must not have told the teachers that she had actually confided her suspicions to anyone, because I woke up the day after with those thoughts intact. I guess I was lucky.


	8. Oranges and Lemons

This scene was TOTALLY inspired by a nightmare I had. When I wrote it I was home alone and got so freaked out I ended up sitting in a corner with a flashlight and a kitchen knife.

Marina-

Four days late came the most terrifying night of my life. I was sleeping in my room, as I usually was at one a.m., when I heard a murmuring in the hall. I'm not sure how loud it actually was, Icthyo hearing isn't the greatest, but it was loud enough to wake me up. I lay there for a few minute, listening to it, and then as it began to come closer I started to get scared.

It was a weird sound. It sounded emotionless, mechanical, but every few seconds it would break into a short burst of hysterical laughter. But, despite this, I couldn't sense one single emotion, almost as if it was a recording. As it got closer, I realized it was singing. There was someone in my hall chanting to themselves, in a singsong voice. They sounded, well, dangerous.

I felt the muscles in my chest begin to constrict, my gills pulling inwards to my neck, and I shrank under my covers. The singing was now a few doors down from me, and I could understand the words.

_Oranges and Lemons _

_Say the bells of Saint Clemens_

_You owe me five farthings _

_Say the bells of Saint Martins…_

At this point there was a small burst of laughter which dissolved into a sort of muffled sob. The crying became more and more desperate, interspaced with little cries of "help" so that I felt as though my heart would break if I didn't aid whoever was outside my door. I got to my feet, and went to my door. I held my breath, and opened the door.

In the hall was Fiona.

It took me a minute to recognize her. She was crumpled in a heap a few feet away. I must have made a noise, because she looked up at me, and her eyes were dreadfully empty, and I sensed _nothing_. I stepped backwards at the sight of her blank face, but she lunged at me and grabbed the hem of my bathrobe. She looked up at me and whimpered "please, please, I can't help it, I can't remember it."

I somehow managed a muffled "what can't you remember." She looked up plaintively at me, through her webbed fingers and said

"What do the bells of O'Bailey say?"

I was so startled by this plaintive request that it took me a few seconds to answer. I sang to her in a chocked voice.

"_You owe me five farthings_

_Said the bells of St. Martins_

_When will you pay me? _

_Said the bells of O'Bailey."_

She laughed delightedly, clapped her hands and stood up. She looked like a four year old who has just been given what she wanted for Christmas.

"Oh, good, you know it. We can sing it together."

I shook my head, and said weakly

"Fi, I think we should go get a teacher" This triggered off a fit. She grabbed the front of my bathrobe and shook me back and forth. Then she brought her face close to mine and whispered, her huge blue eyes whirling in panic, in a scared tone of voice

"I can't see the teacher, we have to sing it, and otherwise they'll get mad at me."

I asked her who would get mad, and she answered "Them. We have to sing it. Now." She burst into quiet tears and sat down on the floor.

I did the only thing I could think of doing. And that is how I ended up sitting in the hall with my friend, sitting on the floor and hugging her, quietly singing.

_Oranges and Lemons_

_Say the bells of St. Clemens._

_You owe me five farthings_

_Said the bells of St. Martins_

_When will you pay me?_

_Said the bells of O'Bailey_

_When I grow rich_

_Say the bells of Shore ditch_

_When will that be?_

_Ask the bells of Step Knee_

_I do not know;_

_Says the big bell of Bow._


	9. Aftre Fiona

After Fiona missed the next day, and didn't say or remember anything about our nighttime chorus, I began to do some exploring on my own. I was scared; I stopped talking to anyone, because I didn't want the school to know what I had done. I didn't know what to do, and I was a nervous about what was going to happen to me. I did the math in my head, and figured that I had about 15 days until my next 'sick day' I have decided to document all this, just in case I forget it. If you are reading this (this sounds like such a cliché, doesn't it?) I'm probably dead no not really, but I might have failed grade ten, or been expelled or something. More likely I'll just think I made this up for a lark.

So now I have a little journal, which I have backed up in five or six different places. One, wait, no. I won't tell you. You may have found one, but I will not tell you where the rest are. But I didn't make any of this up. You have to believe me. I'm going to find out what is going on (cue the x-files music in my head) no matter what.

Today we had science. I sat in the back, and tried not to look at the teacher. Thank God there are only humans on staff. It was hard to act normal, because I've just realized something very important. There is absolutely no one I can go to with this. If I tell a student, the next time they are sick I will be found out. For something this important to be going on, I am convinced that they must know too. The most likely person to reveal my secret is probably me. If the staff can make a student suddenly forget everything that happens to student over that one day, then they can surely find out what I am thinking. I now have 12 days to figure out what to do. I just don't know.

Middle of the night, and I have insomnia. I can't stop thinking about what is happening. I woke up a few hours ago from a horrible nightmare, I was being chased through the hall, and the bells were all there, the ones from the song. But they were not saying anything to me, they were just laughing. All laughing, and then I was trapped and I couldn't find my way out, and I was lost, and then I heard footsteps coming closer and closer, and all this time the bells just kept on fucking laughing!

Of course! That's the key! Dreams are the key. I will ask everyone what the dreamt about and pay special attention to those after sick days. I won't bother recording my dreams from now on though; I know full well what _that_ was about.

It is morning, and I am late for class. Must be quick. Fi dreamed about bells, coincidence? She also went down a dark tunnel. Don't know, will think later. LATE!

During lunch I got the whole table talking, using the excuse that I had had a weird dream. When you tell your own story, people generally contribute too. Only three seemed promising-

Being dragged down a long dark tunnel (underground? Good place for a secret mind scanner or whatever the hell they call them)

Forgetting all about your homework, life, friends, and having everyone forget you. This may be school stress; it is just about exams (I should really study.)

Best of all being kidnapped by giant lobsters (farfetched) and _dragged through a secret tunnel behind a bookcase! _Finally, something to work with. Unfortunately there is a bookcase in every single classroom in the school, probably for just that reason. I'll ask around some more.

In history today we learned about the third world war. I can never remember whether the battle of the Seaenn Tower took place in Toronto or North Bay. Since the tower itself was destroyed during the attack, I don't know where it used to be. Maybe I'll do a search online. Maybe I'll look up the history of Oranges and Lemons while I'm at it. In Civics we studied the Employ of Liberties. I checked specially, but memory wiping was not addressed as a violation of human rights (do those apply to Icthyos?) Supposedly when it was written that was not an issue. I hope someone does something about it. If they don't, I will. If I remember. Maybe it wasn't included because the memory wipers wiped the people who were supposed to put that part in, so that they didn't care. Bit of a catch 22. Tomorrow is Jenna's second sick day of the month. I'm getting closer and closer. It's time to look at bookcases.

I have spent the whole day sneaking around, testing bookcases, trying not to be seen by teachers. I asked Fi to tell the history teacher I had a migraine, and to get my notes. She brought me a whole pile of papers about the war, and the use of India's biological weapons. I must read it over sometime. Apparently I need to memorize their side effects for the exam. There must be about ten, and the only ones I know are asphyxiation, if you got a heavy dose, or fetal mutations, if anyone happened to be pregnant within a few miles of a battlefield. And if the initial blast didn't kill them.

The best thing that I noticed today was a small fruit bowl painted on the cafeteria wall, filled only with oranges and lemons. It is my best lead so far. Unfortunately, there are no bookshelves in the cafeteria, or anywhere nearby, for that matter. I have 11 days left. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.

I realized something else about the dreams. Every one who had a dream always dreamed about the school, all the time. Usually in dreams there are other places, like home or the beach, but no student who I talked to had a distinguishable backdrop other than in the school building. This makes me wonder how much I have actually experienced, and how much was implanted. I ought to have more than a misty memory of home; I spent the first part of my life there, after all. Ten days left. Only ten days. Only ten.


	10. Math

Math was boring. We learnt about slope inclines. Why should I care? I am losing patience with the whole school system. I am so nervous that in class my hand shakes when I try to write. I am on my ninth day, and I don't have any more information. I asked Fiona about her dream, and she led me back to the painting in the cafeteria, with a story about dreaming that she was having a snack, when someone snuck up behind her and pulled her into a room absolutely filled with yellow. Then someone was crying in the background, saying 'My baby, my baby, my poor, poor, baby' and then she woke up. I will look at the picture carefully at lunch.

Yes! Yes! Yes! I just about have the answer. Under the picture is a small mirror, and it reflects on a door. When no one was looking, I opened it a crack and snuck a peak. Inside was a small room with a few chairs, and the long sought after bookshelf! I will go tonight, and see if I can get it to open. I will not go through the tunnel tonight, if there is such a thing. I want to keep the journal updated. I have such an amazing feeling of relief. Even knowing that these suspicions have a basis in fact is better than the helplessness of not doing anything. I have nine days, eight from tomorrow, and somehow that feels like a lot longer all of a sudden.

The bookcase swung open. Hidden hinges, very quiet. I saw the tunnel, and it brought back some of my nightmares that I had forgotten. I need a flashlight before I can go down it, there are no lights. I will have to wait till the next trip to the city, day after tomorrow. That is cutting the time period short, but I need it, and I could use the rest. Speaking of which, it is late. I'm going to sleep.

In science we experimented with radioactive material. That was interesting, because we used the gigantic, room sized version of a glove box. We go into suits, one of us at a time, and walked into a room through which we had absolutely no exposure. The suits protected, us, and were surprisingly comfortable. It was a good thing, too, other wise our future children would have been sent to an association for 'special' people. It's kind of scary, actually.

Got my flashlight from the city. I am so jumpy. I have knocked about ten things over today. My clumsiness has hit new heights. I don't do well with waiting. Tonight is the night. This is it. This is it.

I'm going now.


	11. Incident Report

_Incident Report_

_St Trinian's Research Center- Cover- Marshall College for Young Women_

_St Trinian's, Class- approx. age 15; Genetic Modification _

_Species- Icthyo Sapiens_

_Country- Canada_

_Province- Ontario_

_City- Ottawa_

_Directors Report_

_Yesterday, there was a minor incident. It served as a small reminder to us to be more meticulous in the questioning sessions of our patients. While attempting to educate these children we must also care for them, introducing artificial chemicals into their brain though a complicated set of highly painful injections. The orderlies had seen a girl whose dosage had not lasted as long as expected on the surveillance cameras, and went to bring her for injections. Upon returning they found in the passage leading to the operation chamber another student, who was apparently partially aware of the true purpose of our institution. She had decided to see what was going on for herself. A quick questioning with the mental scanner revealed how her suspicions had been founded, and how she had located the operations chamber. _

_Apparently the memories we had constructed had not completely removed the actual memories from the subconscious, leaving the patients with disturbing nightmares (as I said, it is a painful procedure) we examined the flaws in our systems that allowed this incursion, and have taken the necessary steps to prevent it from happening again. Under questioning she revealed where she had hidden accounts of her suspicions, on her computer, printed under her bed, sent to a friend from a neighboring school (the equivalent of our academy, but for young males.) I have spoken with their director and he will be dealt with. _

_We wiped her suspicions from her mind, gave her the next due dosage. We here view this incident as an opportunity to iron out our methods and improve our system to yet another level. We need not remind you that this is only one of three such incidents that have occurred during the past ten years: the record for Canadian Institutions. We will improve our system using the documents the patient was foolish enough to leave behind. We also must request another set of nerve testing bells, which this academy uses to test the effect of the administered drugs on the patients- at the sound of a painfully high pitched bell, the reaction of the patient measures how far the treatment has progressed. One of the effects of this imbalance, as you probably are aware, is diminished hearing ability. This delicate equipment was damaged by the patient upon her discovery. _

_We at Marshall Pride ourselves with our efficiency at concealing the true nature of this school from the subjects, and look forwards to your evaluative visit in June._

_Sincerely,_

_Brother Martin_


	12. Esperanto for Beginners

Chapter Something or Other

_AN- Yet another timeline leap here, folks. We're flashing to an unknown amount of years after Marina's 'Conspiracy' section, which you have just finished reading. She's now JUST entered the BPRD, and has, for lack of a better description, guppies in her stomach._

_Chocolate andwarm weather toAdiva,and thanks for beta-ing, whenever I getup the determination to actually write something!_

"I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks"  
_Twelfth N, Act iii, Sc.3_

**_Esperanto For Beginners_**

When I first saw Abe I was frightened. I felt like I was rejoining society. Like he wasn't going to accept me. Like I was a betrayal to the noble clan of Icthyo Sapiens.

And then I saw him, floating in his tank, and he had his eyes closed, looking so peaceful, and so in control.

But he was so fantastically graceful and beautiful. He was so perfect, and I was so broken. I could feel his energy. He was an indigo power, and I had _just _turned blue, so the green came out in strong hints. And he was reading, something long, and complicated, a classical piece, Shakespeare or the like, when all I'd ever read was the study books, which were a vague memory.

And I ran. I spun, and ran out of the library as fast as I could.

Liz Sherman saw me go, and she understood.

I think she understood better than I did, at that point.

So she went in to talk to Abe, who's confusion I could feel, even from down the hall where I had collapsed against a wall.

And later that night, Abe came to try and talk to me.

I was sitting, cross legged, on the floor of a side room. Somewhere I thought no one would look for me, but Abe found me. Later he told me that it was because my energy was so bright. I'm still not sure if he's being a romantic, or if he saw me on the surveillance cameras.

Abe came in, opening the door quite loudly, so there was no chance he was going to sneak up one me.

"Hello, there. I've got some food here, I was wondering if you were hungry."

I shook my head, no, even though I was. So he ignored me and sat down across from me, setting the bowl of eggs between us.

"I'm Abe Sapien."

"Nice to meet you"

He looked at me, for a long moment, and his head quirked sideways, a rapid flicker of movement that made me draw my hands back onto my lap, holding one of the eggs.

"Do you have a name?"

Blushing, I shook my head, no. I didn't remember, and still don't, really.

"I didn't either, when I first came to the BPRD."

That inspired some confidence in me, and I met his eyes, for the first time.

They were so kind, and so lovely. I think I may have begun to fall in love with him right there and then.

"How did you get a name?"

He reached out, and snagged an egg.

"My friend Hellboy helped me chose it."

This crushed my spirits again. I didn't have any friends, then.

"Can I help you find yours?"

I know I began to fall in love with him, at that.

I nodded quickly, and dropped my head, blushing again.

"Something with water, I think. And maybe with your accent…"

What?

I looked up, confused. He didn't think I talk right?

"You have a lovely Scottish lilt. It would be a shame to ignore it."

That buoyed my spirits, I can tell you. I'd been complimented. And it was, really, without question, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

"Thank you"

"It's the truth. Aqua? What're different language words for water?"

I smiled. This I knew.

"Water, eaux, agua, akvo."

He looks very impressed, and I blush again.

"Alright, I got the French and the Spanish, but which was the last one? I didn't recognize it."

And I smiled at this. That was a topic I know a lot about.

"It's Esperanto"

"That's fantastic that you speak it. But none of those really suit you."

I was crestfallen at this, but I tried not to show it.

"How about Marina?"

He grinned.

"Don't ask me, it's your name"

And his smile was all the encouragement I needed.

"Marina."

I said this firmly and he offered me another egg, which I took.

"Connery?"

"Why Connery?"

"Famous Scottish actor"

I nodded.

"Marina Connery it is then."

Abe sits on the armchair across from me, his fingers steepled, and his brow drawn in.

"La knabo havos la sukeron." I nod, and grin. "Now can you make 'boy' and 'sugar' plural?"

"La knaboj havos la sukerojn?"

"You've got it. Now; The teacher forgets the boy."

"la instruisto forgesos la knabon"

"Close, Abe, but what tense is present?"

Abe sits and thinks for a mintute.

"La instruisto forgesas la knabon"

"Perfect"

He grins, and stretches languidly. My heart gives a little jump, and I close my eyes. I will NOT let a little crush get the better of me. Even if the crush is not so little…

But then Abe is talking again, and I open my eyes.

"…if that's alright with you?"

I blink, and ask him to repeat himself. Blushing again, I'm wondering if I'm just going to be dyed this color permanently.

He sighs in exasperation, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.

He's kissing me. He's kissing me! He's kissing ME!

When my mind stops doing cartwheels I look up, knowing I must be grinning.

Abe is looking at me intently, and I try to calm my racing heart down, wondering if something's wrong.

"I've wanted to do that, Marina, since you picked a name."

Well, that's encouraging.

"Oh, well... that's the best news I've heard all day."

Abe looks perplexed, then starts laughing.

"Mi amaras vin"

His Esperanto really is improving.


End file.
